Chapter 9: Her Terms

The letter came on Friday morning, on thick paper, from a law firm in Minneapolis.

It was addressed to my mother, care of the Blue Heron Motel.

She read it at the table in Knox's office.

Then she handed it to me without saying anything.

A law firm, on behalf of Mamie's father, was considering a claim of defamation.

It named Siri Lindqvist and any person who assisted her, over the dining hall video and its "false and malicious allegations."

The claim named the diner in Kettle Falls.

"They can try," my mother said, and she put a piece of toast in her mouth and chewed it furiously.

"Mom, they can take the diner."

"They can take a number and wait. I've been sued by a man who slipped on my own mop."

She patted my hand, and her fingers were not steady.

I walked around campus until dark.

I did not cry, because I was too angry.

Then I was not angry anymore, only tired in a way I could feel in my teeth.

At nine I climbed the stairs to the attic.

Knox was on the third landing with a lamp in his hand.

"Your mother told me," he said. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be."

"No pity," he said. "I know. It's not pity. I'm just sorry."

He stood in the lamplight with his sleeves pushed up.

He was the only person in four days who had said sorry without asking me for something.

I stepped up to him, until I was in the circle of the lamp, and looked up.

"Rule one," I said.

"Siri."

"The board's car is on Library Street. The attic window looks at the garden."

I put my hand flat on his chest, over the heartbeat.

"They've taken my book and my house. They'll take my mother's diner if they can. I'm not letting them take this."

"This isn't a favor," he said, hoarse.

"No. It's a want. I've had it for three days." I held his gaze. "Tell me you don't."

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